


The Monster and the Mage

by glitterandgin



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins - Awakening
Genre: Alternate Universe - Beauty and the Beast, Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, Angst and Fluff, Bipolar Disorder, I mean there's not much of that yet but lbr I'm the one writing it, M/M, bipolar!Anders, can you tell i like fairy tales a lot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-12
Updated: 2017-03-25
Packaged: 2018-09-08 02:53:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,669
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8827642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glitterandgin/pseuds/glitterandgin
Summary: An escaped apostate meets a cursed noble, and together they learn there are some things stronger than baneful magic.





	1. Chapter 1

Anders winced as he let himself fall from the top of the wall he’d scaled into the overgrown garden on the other side. His palms were raw and bloody from the climb, and his right shin was definitely bleeding after a run-in with a particularly nasty stone in the wall. Had that thing been sharpened with the explicit intention of keeping out intruders? He wiped his palms on his tattered robes, wishing he hadn’t depleted his mana during his escape from Kinloch Hold, and surveyed his new hideaway.

Even in its current ruinous state, it was obvious the garden had once been a botanical masterpiece. While most of the rosebushes had choked each other to death during their attempted conquest of the yard, the remaining ones bloomed with a vivacity that seemed almost spiteful towards their surroundings. Anders ran his fingers over the velvety petals, wondering who the estate had belonged to  and what had driven them away from their home. Maker, he hoped it wasn’t demons. They were harder to oust than a rat infestation, and they had a nasty habit of leaving entrails strewn about. He squared his shoulders, lifted his robes to prevent further snagging on the carpet of thorns, and made his way to the front door. 

The knob was barely attached, dangling half-snapped from the wooden door and rendering it unable to remain fully closed. Anders nudged the door open with his fingertips, letting the skirt of his robes fall back down to his ankles as he entered the house. 

The interior was in similarly rough shape, with all traces of finery warped into grotesque parodies of themselves. What had once been, if Anders was any judge, a rather fetching statue of Andraste now resembled a darkspawn playing dress-up, her face twisted and corroded into a pained and painful leer. Despite the exterior transformations, there was no sign that time had rendered the house dangerous or uninhabitable. The floorboards didn’t make so much as a creak when he walked, and although the house certainly could have been more fragrant, it smelled more like stale alcohol than the dry rot Anders had expected. 

He crept from the foyer to the first door on the right and opened it. To his surprise and relief, it was a perfectly normal library without any skeletons or demonic flesh deposits in sight. He chose a promising book--a novel about a haunted Orlesian opera house--plopped into the nearest armchair, and promptly lost track of time.

“Do you habitually break into people’s homes and help yourself to their libraries?” a voice, gruff from disuse and dripping with scorn, said from behind him. 

Anders dropped his book on his lap, his muscles paralyzed as his body took a third option in the “fight or flight” dilemma. After two tense, silent seconds, he said, “The door was unlocked. The house looked abandoned.”

“And obviously that meant you could let yourself in as you pleased,” the voice said. As he--the voice certainly sounded male, though Anders hadn’t worked up the courage to turn around yet--spoke, something tapped against the wood floors in time with his words. Anders would have guessed it was the tenant’s foot, but it sounded more like… claws? Did he have a guard dog? Maker, he’d messed up this time. He barely had enough mana to give someone a shock on the ear, let alone fight off a man and a trained guard dog.

Steeling his courage and praying his exhaustion wasn’t obvious, Anders stood and spun to face the man. 

Whoever he’d expected to see when he turned around, it wasn’t  _ that _ . Anders kept his face from betraying his surprise, but his feet didn’t receive the memo. He backpedaled, tripped over the chair’s arm, and fell backwards onto its plush cushion. Rather than anything that could be recognized as humanoid, the homeowner had the form of some sort of… monster.

Though he stood on two feet and wore a somber grey suit, his body was gnarled and covered in matted black fur, and his face more closely resembled an amateur attempt at taxidermy than any living creature Anders had read about in the tower’s library. His lips were curled in what could generously be called a sneer, though it looked more like a silent growl. 

“I’m sorry,” Anders said, unsure whether it’d be ruder to keep staring or to avert his eyes. “I didn’t know anyone lived here. I’ll leave immediately.” As soon as he spoke, he wondered exactly how he’d manage that. The creature stood in front of the only viable exit. 

“And return with a mob of villagers, no doubt,” the creature said, crossing his sinewy arms and tapping his foot again. He’d been partially right, at least--that clicking had definitely been the sound of claws on wood. They’d just belonged to the speaker. 

“I won’t, I promise,” Anders said, the scrapes on his palms stinging as he dug his fingernails into them. “I was only looking for safe haven. But if you let me leave now, I swear I’ll never tell a soul about you or your home.”

The beast sighed through his nose, wolfish nostrils flaring wide as he did so. He said, “You may stay.”

Anders blinked, his brain going completely blank in the face of what had to have been an obvious mishearing on his part. “I’m sorry?”

“You said you were seeking solace. You may stay,” the beast said, his voice implying that Anders had crossed the threshold from thin ice to freezing waters several seconds ago. He nodded and said in more pleasant tones, “You may stay as my guest, and I promise no harm will come to you. In return, I ask only that you never set foot in the attic. Do you agree to these terms?”

“Ah,” Anders said, sitting up a little and unclenching his fists. He considered refusing, but what other options did he have? People weren’t exactly enthusiastic about taking in runaway apostates. He clambered out of the armchair and said, “I agree. Thank you. I’m Anders, by the way.”

“I’ll show you to your room,” the creature said, spinning on his heel and gesturing for Anders to follow. He led him up a winding staircase and down a hallway until they reached the very last door. He opened it and said, “My chambers are at the other end of the hall. If you need anything, you can find me there.”

“Don’t I get to know your name?” Anders blurted out before immediately regretting it. 

His host closed his eyes and exhaled slowly before saying, “I’ll call you for dinner. In the meantime, make yourself at home.”

As his host disappeared down the hallway, Anders couldn’t help but wonder exactly what home entailed without the ever-present threat of templars and tranquility.


	2. Chapter 2

Apparently, making himself at home consisted of lying in the middle of his new bed and staring at the ceiling until he had enough mana to heal his various cuts and bruises. Bit by bit, his adrenaline wore off until he fell asleep on top of the duvet. 

When he woke, a fire burned in his fireplace and the book he’d abandoned in the library had appeared on his nightstand. His stomach growled as the smell of cooked meat wafted through the door and into his room. At least he hadn’t missed dinner, then. At that moment, he realized that describing his current look as “underdressed” was generous. Bits of twig and other plant life still stuck out of his hair. Dirt and blood still covered his hands, and his robes had gained a new burr trim during his escape. 

He healed his wounds, then set about searching for a way to remove some of the dirt. He was pleasantly surprised to find a fresh basin of water and clean cloth on the dressing table. The problem with cleaning his face and hands, he realised after the fact, was that it made the shoddy state of his clothing all the more obvious. Hopefully his host would understand, especially since his other option involved wrapping the curtains around himself like a poor man’s attempt at recreating ancient Tevinter fashion. Something told him he’d outstay his hospitality quickly if he started wearing the drapery. 

A knock, surprisingly gentle considering who was behind it, stopped his thoughts in their tracks. 

“Are you decent?” 

“I haven’t stripped to my smalls and summoned the Great Demon, if that’s what you’re asking,” Anders said, crossing the room to open the door. “But ‘decent’ might be a bit of a stretch, all things considered.”

Was it his imagination, or had his host almost smiled at his answer? If Anders hadn’t imagined it, it had lasted exactly half a second. “Will you join me for dinner?”

Anders’ stomach growled yet again, and he smiled apologetically. “Lead the way.”

Dinner was a simple, hearty stew accompanied by brown bread and red wine. Anders sat several seats away from his host, keeping his distance while allowing them to engage in conversation without resorting to shouting or the use of pantomime.

“So,” Anders said, tearing off a piece of bread and dipping it in the broth. “Do you not have a name?”

“Of course I have a name,” he said, stirring his soup. The spoon was barely visible in his… paw? That seemed like the wrong word, but it was the most fitting one Anders could think of. “I simply have no need for it anymore.”

“Really. You don’t need a  _ name?” _ Anders said, raising an eyebrow. He shook his head, then said, “All right. What if I can guess your name? Can I use it, then?”

His host rolled his eyes and sighed through his nose, but said. “If it amuses you, then go ahead. Guess.”

Anders grinned and said, “All right. Adam?”

His host curled his lip and shook his head. 

“Frederick?”

“Are you actually trying?” this time, his host’s amusement couldn’t be concealed. He was smiling, and it almost looked non-threatening.

“So I guess ‘Brelgrorm’ is a no, then?” Anders said, drumming his fingers on the table. “Hmm… Nathaniel?”

The next thirty seconds were a blur. One moment, Anders and his host--Nathaniel? Had he guessed correctly?--were almost enjoying their meal together, and the next Anders was alone with nothing but a toppled chair and spilled bowl of soup as evidence that he’d had company during dinner. 

Anders stirred his soup again, his appetite suddenly nonexistent. He gathered the dishes, then began what turned into a ten-minute quest for the scullery. It was only once he’d found it and finished washing the dishes that he realized he had no idea how to get back to his room. When he managed to meander into the library through an entrance he hadn’t noticed before, he decided to cut his losses and stay there for the night. 

“You’re not planning to sleep here, are you?”

Anders blinked, already curled up and half-asleep in his armchair. “I got lost leaving the scullery.”

“I wanted to apologize for earlier. I shouldn’t have reacted like that.” His host half-smiled, half-grimaced and added, “You were right. About my name.”

“Brelgrorm?” Anders said, his voice slurred and heavy with sleep. 

“Nathaniel,” he said, bending at the knees before scooping Anders into his arms. He was warm, like a hairy furnace, and Anders found himself nuzzling closer to the source of the heat. “Come on. You have a room for a reason, after all.”

Anders fell into the crack between wakefulness and dreams as he was carried up to his room. His body and mind had gone fuzzy by the time Nathaniel had removed his shoes and pulled the covers up around him, but he could have sworn he felt a gentle hand stroking his hair before he fell asleep.

The next morning, something in his brain switched. It was like activating a tripwire trap--one moment, everything had been calm, and then it all erupted into activity and fire. Anders woke feeling as though the sun had been placed in his skull, filling his body with energy that threatened to burn him from the inside out if he didn’t release it in some way. The garden! It was in such a terrible state, and surely Nathaniel would appreciate it if he did something about it. Grinning so hard his jaw hurt, Anders pulled on his shoes and went to begin his new mission.

After the first five minutes of pulling weeds resulted in more cuts than Anders cared to count, he decided to take a more unorthodox approach to gardening. 

“What are you doing?” Nathaniel said as Anders cast another reasonably controlled fireball at a cluster of thorns and weeds.

“Gardening!” Anders said, gesturing to the still-smoking remains of a rosebush. “Pretty effective, right?”

“If you want to burn down everything in a ten-mile radius, I suppose,” Nathaniel said, crossing his arms and scowling. “You didn’t tell me you were a mage.”

Anders looked at his hands, then at the wreckage. “Strange, I could have sworn I screamed ‘I’m a mage’ when we met. Next time, I’ll remember to wear my special robes that have ‘mage’ embroidered across the chest.” Oh, that was funny. Anders snickered at his own joke before snorting and laughing even more, and by the time he’d regained his tenuous composure, Nathaniel looked even more irritable.

“I hope you don’t have ‘comedian’ embroidered on a different set of robes, because that would be a criminal overstatement,” he said, his scowl deepening before abating suddenly. “Come inside. I have an idea.”

Anders followed him, his mind already buzzing with new ideas for ways to improve the manor. 

Once they were past the foyer, Nathaniel grabbed Anders by the shoulders and said, “I need you to fix this.”

“What?” Anders said, unable to keep from fidgeting--running his thumbs over his fingernails, bouncing on the balls of his feet--as they spoke.

“Do you think I was always like this? You’re a mage. Change me back,” Nathaniel said, releasing one of Anders’ shoulders to gently tilt his chin upwards until they made eye contact.  Nathaniel’s eyes were soft and grey, like velvet, and Anders found himself staring into them for longer than was strictly necessary. 

“Oh! Right, I think I have a spell to fix that. I definitely do. One dispel magic cantrip coming right up,” Anders said, the words tumbling out of his mouth like the first pebbles of an avalanche. He let the magic bubble in him until it reached a boiling point, pouring out like champagne bubbles, all fizz and buoyant energy. 

When the magic wore off, Nathaniel remained the same. “Does it take a few minutes to work?” he said, deep furrows appearing between the bushier fur that Anders considered his eyebrows. 

“It should’ve worked immediately,” Anders said, his tone more confused than actually upset. In fact, his attempts to feel bad about the spell’s failure skittered away like scraps of paper in a breeze. “Want me to try again?”

Nathaniel shook his head. “There’s no point. I don’t know why I bothered. Thank you, Anders.”

He’d turned and stalked out of the room before Anders could reply. After a second’s disappointment, Anders shrugged and returned to the garden. 

That evening, he waited for Nathaniel to join him for dinner. He waited until the candles burned down and dribbled wax on the tablecloth, but Nathaniel never showed up.


	3. Chapter 3

For the next week or so, Nathaniel seemed to do everything in his power to avoid Anders. Anders was certain he’d caught a glimpse of his elusive host while leaving the library just after four in the morning, but it could easily have been a trick of the light. 

Later that day, instead of placing a serving of dinner outside Nathaniel’s door, he decided to try striking up a conversation. They’d got along well enough before, hadn’t they? While he’d tentatively admit that his persistent high spirits might have coloured his perception of their interactions, Anders refused to let that deter him from his newest mission.

“You can’t stay in there forever, you know,” Anders said, leaning against the door. “We’ll run out of dishes eventually, and then what? I’m not pouring soup in my hands for you. Besides, don’t you miss my charming company?”

There was a snort from the other side of the door, like a poorly stifled laugh. Anders smiled, his enthusiasm bolstered by the reaction.

“Of course you do! And I’m less likely to set the garden on fire again if you keep me company,” Anders said, cheering internally when he heard the door unlock. “I’m so glad you decided to see reason; the only thing worse than--”

The door opened suddenly, ripping Anders’ balance out from under him and sending him hurtling backwards into the room. He flailed, fully expecting his head to meet the unforgiving wood floor, and couldn’t contain his surprise when, instead, Nathaniel broke his fall. 

“Huh,” Nathaniel said, staring down at him like he’d never seen him before. His grip tightened momentarily before loosening as Anders regained his footing. He folded his arms behind his back and said, “You mentioned dinner?”

Anders laughed, more of a hiccup of nervous mirth than anything. Why was he nervous? This was ridiculous. He found himself mirroring Nathaniel’s body language as he said, “Yes! It’s ready. And on the table. And probably getting cold, but I can fix that easily enough. It might even be better cold, now that I think--”

“I’m sure it’s delicious,” Nathaniel said, squeezing past him in a way that implied Anders had suddenly grown spikes all over his body. By the time the confusion had washed over Anders like an ocean wave, Nathaniel was halfway down the stairs.

“I’m sorry the spell didn’t work,” Anders said as he took his seat at the table. “Do you know what kind of magic they used? Maybe that’ll help us figure it out. Not that I’m suggesting we resort to blood magic or what have you, but it might give us a hint. Or I could just keep flinging spells at you and see what sticks. Like pasta, but sometimes there’s lightning bolts.”

Nathaniel paused with his spoon halfway to his mouth, soup trickling back into the bowl. “I’d prefer if we discussed something else. You’ve been in high spirits lately.”

“You noticed?” Anders said, Nathaniel’s words feeding the frenzy that existed in his brain. Nathaniel’s words were a collection of spinning prisms, taking his sunbeam thoughts and turning them into dizzying rainbows.

“You spent twenty minutes talking about your ideas for knitting a tapestry,” Nathaniel said, his tone creeping towards amused. 

“I wanted to make sure you could perfectly visualize it,” Anders said, his fingers itching for yarn he didn’t have and couldn’t acquire.

“But you said you don’t know how to knit.”

“Why should that stop me?” Anders said, shrugging off Nathaniel’s objection. “It can’t be that hard, can it?”

Nathaniel blinked rapidly as though Anders had punctuated each word by throwing an acorn at him. He said, “I suppose there are worse hobbies.”

“Right? I could be making hideous sculptures out of book pages and paste,” Anders said, shuddering dramatically. “Or I could take up taxidermy! Really, knitting seems like the best option here. Why don’t you tell me about yourself?”

“I think I’ll refrain,” Nathaniel said, finishing his meal. 

“You don’t actually think the ‘tragic, taciturn victim of a curse’ act is charming, do you?” Anders said, irritation chipping away at what he’d previously thought was weatherproof cheer.

“You don’t really think the ‘potentially unstable, hyperactive mage’ act is charming, do you?” Nathaniel said, spitting the words out like bitter herbs. Whatever fire fueled his mood extinguished shortly after, his shoulders slumping as he stood and said, “You’ll forgive me if I’m unused to socialization still. Thank you for dinner, Anders.”

“No problem,” Anders said to the empty room. He shook his head, cleared the table, and tried to ignore the subtle feeling that the air was slowly leaking out of his mood. It’d return eventually. He was sure of it.

Anders didn’t think he’d ever been more wrong in his life, which--considering some of his more questionable decisions--was saying quite a bit. If the slow leak of energy and emotion was disconcerting, it was nothing compared to sudden implosion that awaited him the next morning. 

His mind had been replaced with a vast, heavy void from which even the smallest scrap of feeling couldn’t escape. It sucked the strength from his limbs until his marrow ached and turning over in bed exhausted him. Each breath felt like a death rattle as time blurred until he could have been lying in that bed for all eternity. Seconds were centuries, and they dragged over his skin like needles. 

“Anders?” 

He tried to think of a response, but his speed of thought was so slow there weren’t units small enough to measure it. After several tries, he managed an inarticulate groan. 

“I, ah, didn’t quite catch that,” Nathaniel said, pushing the door open slightly. When Anders didn’t--couldn’t--repeat himself, he said, “Are you… all right?”

“Fine,” Anders said, the word a hunk of sandstone in his mouth. 

“You seem ill,” Nathaniel said as he entered the room, lingering at the foot of the bed.

“I’m fine,” he said, fighting to conjure an iota of yesterday’s excessive cheer. The closest he could get to that emotion was aimless frustration. 

“Can’t you heal yourself?” 

“Healing spells don’t work for… this,” Anders said, each word slow and painful as an amateur tooth extraction. “Can I go back to sleep now?”

“What can I do to help you?” Nathaniel said. He moved to crouch by the side of the bed, his right paw--though, on closer inspection, it didn’t look all that different from a human hand--resting on top of the covers. 

Anders shrugged, then shivered. Without a word, Nathaniel stood and went to kindle a fire in the hearth. When he returned to Anders’ side, he said, “Do you mind if I keep you company?”

Anders shrugged again. It was the most he could do.

Nathaniel glanced at the nightstand, then said, “I’m going to read to you, if that’s all right.”

He grabbed the top book from the stack Anders had made, thumbed to the makeshift bookmark Anders had made from a piece of his robe, and began reading. His voice was deep and soft, and he read with confidence born of familiarity with the text. “And the shadows grew longer, and engulfed her, but she was not afraid, for more evil existed in the light than she’d ever found in darkness. As the umbrae seeped through her pores and dissolved the last of her spiritual shackles, she knew she was truly free.”

Nathaniel’s voice washed over Anders like warm ocean waves, lulling him to sleep. When Anders woke briefly, Nathaniel was still at his side, reading silently. Something bright and barbed buried itself deep in his heart, and tears leaked unbidden from the corners of his eyes as sleep overtook him again. 


	4. Chapter 4

As the weeks wore on with the plodding implacability of clockwork, Nathaniel made a habit of reading to Anders. Sometimes, when he had the energy, Anders made conversation with him, but mostly he lay in bed and listened. While the effect was numbed by several strata of exhaustion and malaise, Nathaniel’s presence was undeniably comforting. 

“Thank you,” Anders said when Nathaniel paused to rest his voice. “I know I’m not very good company right now, and it’s nice of you to do this.”

Nathaniel looked up from the book, puzzled. “It’s the least I can do.”

“Are you comfortable down there?”

“You’d be surprised how much cushioning my fur provides,” Nathaniel said, though he winced as he stretched and shifted his weight. 

“There’s room on the bed,” Anders said, a dull spark of surprise at his own words flickering in his mind as he spoke. “It has to be better than sitting on the floor.”

The silence overtook him like a migraine.  _ Stupid, stupid, stupid. He’s only being polite, and now you’ve probably driven him away. Great work as always, Anders.  _ The thoughts oozed through him like poisoned molasses, slow but inexorable. He closed his eyes and waited for the sounds of Nathaniel leaving the room. They didn’t come.

“You wouldn’t mind?” Nathaniel’s voice was hesitant, each word a tentative step across a frozen lake. 

Anders shook his head, his eyes still closed.

After five more seconds of silence, Nathaniel stood, the old floorboards creaking as he walked to the other side of the bed. There was the soft thump of the book being placed on the bed, followed by the gradual addition of weight as Nathaniel slowly joined Anders in bed. Anders opened his eyes; Nathaniel lay as close to the edge as possible, his elbows tucked against his sides as though he hoped to collapse in on himself like a dying star. 

“You don’t _have_ to sit on the bed,” Anders said, wondering if there was a way Nathaniel’s obvious discomfort couldn’t be taken personally. “If you prefer the floor--”

“No,” Nathaniel said, spitting the word out like a hot coal. He coughed and added, “We should get back to the book.”

As Nathaniel returned to reading aloud, his posture relaxed until he sprawled to take up almost half of the bed, his fur just barely tickling against Anders’ skin. Like he’d done so many times throughout the week, Anders closed his eyes and let the story distract him from the aches in his head and chest. After some time, Nathaniel’s voice trailed off. Anders cracked an eye open to see why he’d stopped. Nathaniel had fallen asleep, the book rising and falling as it lay open on his chest. Anders almost managed a genuine smile at that before rolling onto his side and joining Nathaniel in sleep.

“I’m sorry,” Nathaniel said when Anders awoke. He’d left the bed and stood two feet away, as though he feared the blankets would reach out and drag him back if he drew any closer. “That was entirely inappropriate of me, and I promise it won’t happen again.”

“You fell asleep,” Anders said, and an inkling of amusement broke through the glassy surface under which his emotions were trapped. “Isn’t that what people do in beds?”

Nathaniel turned his gaze to the ceiling, hands clasped behind his back. “This is different. I shouldn’t have… I need to cook dinner.”

Anders wanted to ask him to come back, but he couldn’t find the words or motions to do so.

Like frost thawing to spring, slowly but surely Anders regained his energy and emotional range. While it was always difficult to sort out his emotions immediately after one of his slumps, Anders couldn’t help but notice an undercurrent of warmth whenever his thoughts turned to Nathaniel. Eager to explore this further, he began spending what little emotional and physical energy he had on interacting with his host. But as he found himself capable of engaging in conversation again, he noticed that Nathaniel constantly looked at war with himself. 

“It’ll make you feel better if you just say what’s on your mind already,” Anders said during dinner one night. 

“I think you should leave,” Nathaniel said, the words blurring into one monotone, nigh-meaningless string of syllables. 

“What?” Anders said, his thoughts racing faster than they had in days as he tried to figure out what infraction he’d committed to be evicted from Nathaniel’s home. Had taking care of him simply been too much for Nathaniel to handle? One bout of depression, and suddenly he was unwelcome? The cynical part of his brain knew he shouldn’t have been surprised, but it stung regardless. 

“I think you should leave,” Nathaniel repeated, his voice steady and toneless this time. “I… think it would be best for both of us.”

_ For what definition of “best”?  _ The sentiment rang through his head before he’d even registered the question. He held his tongue and waited for Nathaniel to elaborate further.

“The more I’ve thought about it, the more sense it makes. I... We’ll both be happier this way.”  Nathaniel stood, crossing his arms and refusing to meet Anders’ eyes. He almost sounded mournful, which was ridiculous. If it pained him so much, why would he do this? “I just think you should leave. You don’t have to, but--”

“No, I understand,” Anders said, and his stomach churned like he’d swallowed phlegm. “You’ve made your point, Nate. I won’t trouble you with my presence any longer.”

“Anders,” Nathaniel said, then sighed and rubbed his hands over his face. “It’s not that--”

“Please, spare me the convoluted explanation.” Anders smiled mirthlessly. “I suppose I should thank you for waiting until I felt better, at least. That must have been agony.”

“I  _ wouldn’t _ \--” Nathaniel said, his calm demeanor snapping on the second word. 

“Of course not,” Anders spat, picking up his dishes and crossing the room. “I should get packing. You’ve clearly spent more than enough time with me already, you poor dear.”

Nathaniel made a sound that could only be described as a growl, then spun on his heel and left through the door on the opposite side of the room. Anders gritted his teeth and steeled his heart to leave the only place that had truly felt like home. 

When he’d packed his belongings--at least he hadn’t stayed long enough to accumulate much, he thought bitterly--Anders pulled on his boots and headed to the front door, eager to avoid further interactions with Nathaniel. 

Of course luck would side against him in this matter. There Nathaniel stood, blocking his exit like a distraught statue. “Heartless Host in Repose,” medium unknown, 9:32 Dragon.

Nathaniel reached out, holding an unsealed letter as though it were either a peace offering or a shield. Voice hoarse, he said, “Please. Don’t read it until you’re safely away from here.”

Anders took the letter between his thumb and forefinger and tucked it away in his robes. He wished he could think of some properly scathing remark to end their--whatever they’d had, but he had to settle for stony silence and an expressionless mask that crumbled the second he stepped out of the manor. He would not look back. This was just another misstep on his road to freedom. He’d had plenty of those before. Chapter over, case closed, emotions stoppered and shunted off to the furthest reaches of his mind. 

So why did it feel like shards of glass dug further into his chest with each heartbeat?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's taken me so long to post this chapter! One of my cats died on New Year's, and it hit me pretty hard.


	5. Chapter 5

Powered by sorrow and spite, Anders reached the outskirts of the neighbouring village by early dawn. He slumped against the nearest tree and healed his feet, which stung even when he wasn’t moving. As he shifted into a more comfortable position, something jabbed against his flesh. Oh, right. The letter. 

He pulled it out with every intention of burning it, but found himself unable to the longer he looked at it. The exterior simply said “Anders,” but the slight shakiness of the “A” captured his attention and begged him to read the contents of the letter. 

_ My Deare _

_ Dear _

_ Anders, _

_ Of the many things you deserve, the least I can provide is an explanation--and an apology. While I would gladly have you live out your life with me, it is unfair to keep you by my side in the vain hope that one day my affections will be returned. You should be free to live and love as you please, and these past days have proven that you cannot do that while you remain by my side. It pains me to see you go, but it would pain me further to know you stayed out of a misplaced sense of obligation and nothing more. Thank you for everything; your time with me has been more enjoyable than I ever dared to dream. _

_ With all my love, _

_ Nathaniel Howe _

The shakiness returned with a vengeance for the last two lines, so much so that “love” was barely legible. Anders closed his eyes and focussed on breathing until the lump in his throat had shrunk to a more manageable size. 

Nathaniel loved him. He loved him, and the things Anders had said before he left--Maker, he had to go back. Anders refolded the letter, tucked it away, and sprinted home.

“Nate?” he called as he flung open the front door. There was no response. 

He bolted up the stairs to Nathaniel’s room and pounded on the door until his knuckles ached. The answering silence was like a dagger to the gut. Anders opened the door. The room was vacant.

Anders’ stomach churned, a storm-tossed sea of anxiety. Nathaniel couldn’t have left the manor--could he? He could search the library, or even his own room, but he already knew they’d be as empty as Nathaniel’s. Then, memory crept upon him.

He’d never moved so fast in his life, of that he was sure. Time and space blurred around him until he arrived at the attic. The door was already partially open. That had to be a good sign, right? It had to. 

“Nathaniel?” Anders said as he nudged the door out of his way and entered the room. There Nathaniel was, surrounded by warped, tarnished antiques--memoirs from his life prior to the curse?--and slumped against the wall. Anders ran to his side, taking hold of Nathaniel’s wrist in both of his hands. There was no pulse. The last bastion of composure fell, and Anders began to weep, burying his face in Nathaniel’s neck. “Nate… I came back. I’m so, so sorry. I love you, Nate. I love you.”

“Anders?” 

His mind couldn’t possibly be cruel enough to hallucinate Nathaniel’s voice. And yet, he was certain he’d heard it.

“Anders,” Nathaniel’s voice was stronger this time, and tinged with joy. “Why did you come back?”

Anders lifted his head from Nathaniel’s neck, terrified that Nathaniel’s response had been a figment of his imagination and he’d see nothing but a lifeless body. When Nathaniel’s eyelids fluttered, Anders leaned forward and brushed their lips together. Even with his eyes squeezed shut, the change was obvious. Nathaniel’s fur grew shorter and shorter until there was nothing but flesh beneath Anders’ fingers, and the hands that gripped him in response were unmistakably human. 

“Anders,” Nathaniel said, his voice thick with emotion. “You did it; you broke the curse. Please, love, open your eyes.”

Tentatively, the action hampered by the layer of tears growing behind his eyelids, Anders complied. He gasped, then kissed Nathaniel again, determined to map out every inch of him with his lips and fingers. He hadn’t imagined what Nathaniel would look like free of the curse’s influence--that would have been cruel to both of them--but even his wildest, most desperate dreams couldn’t compare to the man who sat in front of him now, looking at him like he’d singlehandedly restored the Golden City.

Anders laughed, more in an attempt to release the tension that boiled in his gut than out of actual amusement. “I--you-- _ Oh, love. _ ”

Nathaniel wiped a tear from Anders’ cheek, ignoring the steady trickle flowing from his own eyes. He brushed a damp thumb over Anders’ lips and said, “Breaking curses--and almost dying--takes a lot of energy. Bed?”

Anders nodded and kissed Nathaniel once more before helping him to his feet. When they were both standing, Anders found himself unable and unwilling to let go of Nathaniel’s hand. Nathaniel seemed to be in the same boat, judging by the way he squeezed Anders’ as though it were his only tether to reality. They had to step out of sync in order to fit through the doors, but they maintained that point of contact all the way to Nathaniel’s bed. 

If Anders had hoped the bedroom would offer hints about Nathaniel’s past, he was sorely disappointed. If anything, Nathaniel had studiously rid his room of anything personal, leaving only the essentials. Perhaps that would change, now that they’d broken the curse?

They climbed into bed, reluctantly separating just long enough to find a comfortable arrangement. When they were nestled chest-to-chest, Anders ghosted his fingers across Nathaniel’s face, half-terrified he would dissipate at any moment. Nathaniel responded by taking Anders’ hand and bringing it to his lips, pressing the softest of kisses to his fingertips and inner wrist. Anders’ lips parted in an silent gasp that transformed into a contented sigh as he and Nathaniel settled in for their nap. 

#

When Anders woke, the sun had nearly set and Nathaniel still held him tight. He shifted a little, stretching as much as the embrace would allow, and felt a pang of guilt when Nathaniel opened his eyes.

“I didn’t mean to wake you,” Anders said, running his thumb over Nathaniel’s brow. “Go back to sleep.”

Nathaniel yawned into the back of his hand and said, “I think I’ve slept enough for today, especially if you count when I was dead.” He rolled his shoulders before sitting up and flexing his arms. Somewhat reluctantly, Anders sat up, too. They leaned back against the pillows, fingers laced together between them.

“What will you do now?” Anders said, stroking Nathaniel’s thumb with his. 

“I don’t know,” Nathaniel said, frowning slightly. “I’d spent so many years certain my curse would never be lifted, I didn’t dare dream about what would happen afterwards.”

“Well,” Anders said, leaning over to kiss Nathaniel’s temple. “Is there anything you  _ want _ to do?”

Nathaniel’s frown melted away. He shifted until he fully faced Anders, running his free thumb over Anders’ lips. “I might have a few ideas.”

Anders licked his lips, his tongue just barely flicking against the pad of Nathaniel’s thumb. He raised his eyebrows and swiped his tongue across Nathaniel’s thumb again, this time intentionally.

Nathaniel shivered and moved his hand to cup Anders’ chin, hesitating for half a second before kissing him. He kissed like the tide, surges of passion breaking forward and washing over Anders before ebbing away into shorter, chaste pecks on his lips. It was maddening in the most wonderful way. 

Anders placed a hand on Nathaniel’s chest, gently signaling a pause in the series of kisses. 

“As wonderful as this is,” he said, letting his hand trail along Nathaniel’s chest as he spoke. “If I don’t get out of this position, my knees will kill me. I’m afraid there aren’t many years left in these old joints.”

Nathaniel rolled his eyes. “You can’t be that much older than me. But you have a point.”

“I always do,” Anders said brightly, motioning for Nathaniel to recline against a pillow. When Nathaniel had made himself comfortable, Anders straddled his hips and gently lowered his weight onto Nathaniel’s lap until they were flush together. Nathaniel’s hands came up to rest on Anders’ hips as they kissed, slow and soft like time was no longer applicable to them. If dreams could kiss, it would feel like this.

Anders wound a strand of Nathaniel’s hair around his finger lazily, rubbing it between his fingers before letting it uncoil. 

“You’re going to give me tangles if you keep doing that,” Nathaniel said, though he didn’t move to bat Anders’ hand away. 

“Then I’ll brush them out later,” Anders said, ruffling his hair with extra gusto. He sighed contentedly and kissed Nathaniel again. Half-thinking aloud, he said, “It’s nice. I didn’t think I could have something like this. I guess I should thank you.”

Nathaniel, who’d busied himself to kneading Anders’ hips, flicked his thigh. When he had Anders’ undivided attention, he said, “Don’t be ridiculous. It’s obvious that I’m the one who should be grateful.”

“We’re not really going to argue about this, are we?” he said, shifting his weight slightly, keeping the pressure just light enough that any grinding could charitably called accidental. 

“We could skip to the part where we kiss and make up, if you want,” Nathaniel said, placing his hands lower on Anders’ hips. 

“Now there’s an idea,” Anders said, leaning in close until their lips almost touched. He lingered there, the space between them growing more palpable with each passing second. When it was almost unbearable, like the anticipation before taking the plunge into a body of water that built up until you either turned away or jumped, Anders closed his eyes and the distance between them. 

Nathaniel moaned when their lips met, raising his hips to grind against Anders’ as the kiss continued. Anders rolled his hips and buried his hands in Nathaniel’s hair again, chuckling into the kiss when Nathaniel didn’t interrupt to complain about tangles. Instead, Nathaniel placed his hands on Anders’ lower back, fingertips just barely resting above his ass. Each point of contact between fingertips and flesh was a flash of brightness and warmth that connected with the others to form something beautiful and, up until this moment, utterly unattainable. If the contact points were stars in a constellation, Anders wanted his body to be the sky on a clear night.

Removing his fingers from Nathaniel’s hair as gently as possible, Anders placed his hands on Nathaniel’s wrists and guided them lower. Nathaniel gasped, then squeezed lightly, his touch a galaxy of “too much” and “never enough”. Anders rocked against him, kissing Nathaniel until firecrackers went off behind his eyes. Kissing Nathaniel was more addictive than breathing. 

When they parted for air, Nathaniel’s face was flushed and his eyes were almost feverish in their brightness. Anders opened his mouth, only to find that words had completely failed him. Capturing this moment was a job for musicians, painters--anybody who could take the sublime and render it in an earthly form. Faced with his lack of knowledge of either medium, he composed a symphony in the only way he knew. 

He kissed Nathaniel’s forehead, then his nose and each of his cheeks before kissing him properly again. If the pleased sounds his actions elicited could match the tempo of his heart, maybe that would be enough. He moved his focus to Nathaniel’s neck, just taking a moment to fully appreciate the strong, steady pulse beneath his lips.

Nathaniel ran a finger down Anders’ spine, electrifying everything he touched. Anders shivered and gasped against Nathaniel’s neck, grinding their hips together without thinking. 

“Do you want to…?” Nathaniel said, his hand resting at the base of Anders’ spine. Anders was half-certain that when he took off his robes, there would be a burn mark in the shape of Nathaniel’s hand.

Anders tapped Nathaniel’s nose gently, playfully. “Do you really have to ask?”

“It doesn’t hurt to be sure.” Nathaniel smiled and patted Anders’ thigh. “Though I’m afraid you’ll need to get up.”

Anders complied with an exaggerated sigh. “You finally get comfortable, and suddenly you’re evicted from your seat.”

Nathaniel snorted as he shucked off his pants and smalls. “You’re more than welcome to reclaim that seat whenever you want.”

Anders paused with his robes halfway over his head, momentarily stunned. “When did  _ you _ learn to flirt? And where?”

“I’m insulted,” Nathaniel said, his tone affectionate. “I’m sure I’ve flirted with you before.”

“For the sake of your pride, you can keep believing that,” Anders said, finally freeing himself from his robes and discarding them on the floor. “Now, about that seat…”

“I’m afraid it’s unavailable now,” Nathaniel said, poorly suppressing a smile as he crossed his arms. 

Anders draped his arms around Nathaniel’s neck and toyed with the ends of his hair. “I’m sorry I hurt your ego. Do you want me to kiss it better?”

Nathaniel’s facade shattered, and he uncrossed his arms before wrapping them around Anders’ waist. “It’s certainly a good start.”

They kissed like spiked tea, hot and sweet with an aftertaste that burned in the best way. Even when they pulled back to catch a breath, they continued embracing with only the slimmest space between their lips. 

“Bed?” Nathaniel said, his voice dusky as he traced Anders’ jaw with his thumb. 

Anders raised an eyebrow and scratched lightly at Nathaniel’s spine, eliciting a shiver. “It depends. Is my old seat available?” 

Nathaniel smiled, his eyes brighter--and warmer-- than ever. “I believe it is.”

“Then lead the way.”

When Nathaniel had made himself comfortable, Anders slowly straddled his hips, creating just the smallest amount of friction as he did so. 

Nathaniel laced his fingers through Anders’ and brought their hands to his mouth, kissing each of Anders’ knuckles. “What do you want to do?”

Anders leaned down and nipped at Nathaniel’s earlobe before whispering, “I want to ride you until we’re exhausted, and then do it again. I want to make sure you never doubt that I love you, Nathaniel Howe.”

Nathaniel kissed Anders’ neck, letting his teeth just barely graze against the flesh. Anders shivered and ground against him, hissing as Nathaniel bit down with slightly more force.

“Sorry,” Nathaniel said, his lips brushing against Anders’ neck. 

“Don’t be,” he said, grinding against Nathaniel again. “Just caught me by surprise.”

Nathaniel kissed his neck again, this time blatantly nipping at Anders’ skin. Anders tangled his fingers in Nathaniel’s hair, stubs of nails pricking at his scalp, and ground down on him again and again.

Without removing his focus from Anders’ neck, Nathaniel groped around at his bedside table until he opened the drawer and began fumbling through the contents until he fished out a half-full jar of salve. In a motion so fluid it had to have been practiced, he uncorked the jar one-handed and set it on the table without dropping the cork or the container. 

“Is that what you spent your time doing, when you were alone in your room?” Anders said, unable and not particularly willing to hide his admiration.

“Uncork jars?” Nathaniel said drily. “I’m glad you think I’m so easily amused.”

Anders scoffed. “Fine, be obtuse. It’s good to know you have other hobbies.”

Nathaniel turned his attention to the salve, scooping out a generous amount with three fingers. When he looked to Anders for confirmation, Anders nodded. Nathaniel slipped his hand between Anders’ legs and tentatively probed, studying Anders’ face for signs of discomfort. Slowly, almost maddeningly so, he pressed it further in.

Anders rolled his hips down onto the digit, muffling his gasp in Nathaniel’s neck as a second finger joined the first one. 

“Is this good?” Nathaniel said, stroking Anders’ side with his free hand. 

Anders kissed him, languid and carefree. “More than.”

They kissed again, an action as much a gentle surrender to physical and emotional forces as a conscious decision, and for the first time in longer than he cared to remember, Anders was  _ home _ . The realisation sent trickles of warmth like liquid sun down his spine. 

Reluctantly, Anders leaned back just enough to speak. “I’m ready.”

Nathaniel’s breath hitched for a second, his eyes dazed and lust-darkened. He eased his fingers out and grabbed the jar of salve, passing it to Anders. 

Anders took the jar with hands that shook just enough for the tremors to be noticeable. He scooped out a generous amount of salve and began applying it to Nathaniel’s dick before lowering himself onto it. 

Nathaniel’s fingers dug into his hips as Anders rose before sinking even lower, setting an easy rhythm. Nathaniel took Anders’ wrists in his hands, kissing and sucking on his fingertips while Anders maintained his pace. He scraped his teeth across the pad of Anders’ thumb, and Anders’ hips stuttered involuntarily as he lost the tempo in the most pleasant way possible. 

After that, all semblance of rhythm fell by the wayside. They moved in fluid minutes and staccato seconds, and Anders was certain that the holiest of canticles would sound like a tuneless pub song in comparison to Nathaniel’s noises. He came with a melismatic moan that was absorbed by a kiss as expansive and heart-aching as the horizon. 

He brushed a stray hair out of Nathaniel’s face and kissed his nose before gingerly climbing off his lap. As he settled next to Nathaniel, the statue in the foyer caught his eye. 

“Nate, look,” he said, swatting Nathaniel’s arm and gesturing to the decoration. “I just moved back in, and I’ve already refurbished your house. Did you luck out with me, or what?”

Nathaniel scoffed, but his brow furrowed as he stared at the statue. “I forgot it looked like that.”

While Anders had since grown accustomed to the (frankly blasphemous) rendition of Andraste that occupied the centre of the entryway, its replacement was an undeniable improvement. Rather than looking like it’d been carved by a drunk amateur who developed cataracts partially through the process, the statue could now be described as a depiction of the prophet as imagined by an affection-starved artist. This was Andraste as she first welcomed the Maker, delight and determination lovingly detailed in every centimetre of her expression and pose. 

“Huh,” Nathaniel said, standing suddenly and getting tangled in the bedclothes. 

“Where are you--”

“I need to check something,” he said, already halfway out the room. 

“Can’t a man enjoy his afterglow without running around?” Anders groused as he stood to follow. He stumbled, falling back onto the bed until his legs remembered how to work again. By the time he could stand without his knees buckling, Nathaniel had returned with a golden trinket, as shiny as the day it was made.

Nathaniel sat next to him and held the trinket--a locket, upon further inspection--up for Anders to view. He unlatched the clasp to reveal a miniature portrait and said, “My family, before the curse. It affected each of us differently--my parents found themselves unable to interact with people or objects, part of this world but never participants in it, until they disappeared one day.”

He pointed to the youngest member of the family, a boy with the same strong nose and dark hair as him. “Thomas, my brother, was encased in rose vines while he trained in the yard. By the time we’d cut them apart, there was no sign of him.

“Delilah, my sister. She fled before the curse took affect. I’ve always wondered if she managed to escape it.”

“Who cursed your family?” Anders said, unable to tear his eyes away from the portrait. 

Nathaniel snapped the locket closed and set it on the nightstand. “You understand this happened years ago. My father was not a man you disagreed with, and he never forgot a slight. One night, a crone knocked on our door, requesting shelter. A storm was approaching, and she’d nowhere else to go. My father laughed in her face. I wanted to speak up, but I was a coward. My cowardice cost me my family.”

Anders took Nathaniel’s hand, sandwiching it between both of his. “It sounds like there was nothing you could have done, unless you wanted to join the woman who cursed you. I know it’s not worth much, but I’m sorry about your family.”

“It’s worth more than you know,” Nathaniel said. He leaned over and kissed Anders’ cheek, a soft brush of warmth that ended too quickly for Anders’ liking. “Thank you for listening. It’s been so long since I let myself think about my family; it was good to tell someone.”

“Maybe they’re still out there,” Anders said. “We could look for them, if you want. At the least, we can ask around about your sister. Maybe someone in the nearby village saw her.”

“I’d like that,” Nathaniel said, his smile watery. He blinked, clearing his eyes, and said, “But first, I want to spend more time with the man I love.”

“That can be arranged,” Anders said, straddling Nathaniel and kissing him. It was as much a promise as a show of affection--a vow that whatever happened, he would be at Nathaniel’s side. 

The next day, they set out in search of Delilah. 


End file.
